Is This Desire?
by Deezley
Summary: A miasma of troubles plague Ron and Draco, will it bring them closer, or rip them apart? -- Re-uploaded, Link to NC-17 (NEW CHAPTER!!)
1. Chapter One

**Rating:** R

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter and Co. I simply toy with their minds 

**Warnings:** This is slash, feel free to skip this story if you're not into that. 

**A/N:** Are you wondering why there are hardly any reviews here? It's because this story was accidentally erased from ff.net. I'm re-posting it with a new chapter, I apologize profusely!! 

**Dedications:** This whole story is dedicated to Maud, who is the most wonderful person ever, and who's stories you should all read. 

Prologue

~~~Draco~~~

Another utterly, despicably boring day at Hogwarts. Transfiguration, Arithmancy, and Potions, ah with the Gryffindors. Yes, I haven't seen them in some time, we simply must catch up. 

McGonagall is currently lecturing about turning a piccolo into a pineapple, trying to sound impressive. I wonder what McGonagall was like when she was at Hogwarts. The old bat was probably exactly the same, with that tight black bun, and those stiff robes. How does the woman breathe? She was probably just like Granger, the mudblood, a fucking know-it-all. 

I'm practically snoozing here, this is ridiculously simple. I don't know why I'm forced to take this class with the people in my year. Father said I should be taking advanced courses, but Dumbledore won't allow it. Muggle-lover. 

*** 

"Watch it, Weasel," I say as I smash past him in the doorway. His lanky body falls with a thud to the ground. I shove my hand in the pockets of my robes. The second he pulls out his wand, it's over. 

"S-Sorry," he stutters, picking himself up off the floor. What the fuck? I've waited all day for this. He can't just play the almighty Gryffindor and walk away. Who does he think he is, Potter? He'll pay for that one too. He brushes off his already tattered robes and sits as far away from me as possible. 

Snape is rambling about some ridiculously easy potion that I could have done that in my first year. 

"What's the most important thing to remember when using the hair of an Oliphaunt?" Snape glares at the class. Immediately Granger's hand flies into the air. Of course, I know the answer to this question; I just don't feel the need to answer it. Snape purposely avoids her, and sighs. "The Oliphaunt," he begins. A Snape speech like this can last hours. I tune him out as I stare at the clock. There's fifty-three minutes left. Oh, God. Could this clock go any slower? The steady ticking is affecting my brain. Bringing me into its endless pattern. Something brings me out of my stupor. The feeling of someone watching me. I turn around to eye the possibilities. I turn to my left, Pansy Parkinson? No, she seems to be asleep. Some days this class can actually be amusing, today is not one of those days. I look again to my right, maybe it's Crabbe or Goyle. No, they're involved in a game of Patty Cake or some shit. I began to search the class room. Thomas? No. Longbottom? No, thank god. I can feel someone's eyes piercing through my skin, it's eerie. Who is it? Potter? No. Fucking Weasley? It's fucking Weasley. 

I attempt to scowl back at him, shoving my hand around my wand again. He blushes and turns away. What the fuck is he doing? Is he…no, no, that would be too good. Maybe there's something on my face. I didn't look in the mirror after last class. Fuck. "Goyle," I whisper. He turns to me as Crabbe smacks him in the chest. (They were still playing Patty Cake.) I think I've disturbed their fun. He gives me a puzzled look. This isn't anything new; the statement is practically tattooed on his face. 

"Wha?" He asks. 

"Do I have anything on my face?" I feel like such an ass. Not like I care what he thinks though. 

"Wha?" He asks again, brows knitting together. Excuse me, brow, he only has one. 

"Do-I-have-anything-on-my-fucking-face?" I ask, enunciating each word. 

"Oh," He laughs huskily. "Uh, no." 

I roll my eyes and go back to glaring at Weasley. Again, again, he was looking at me. Is he cursing me under the table? I better curse him, just to be safe. "Aracunous," I say under my breath as I aim my wand at his leg. A rather large black spider begins to crawl up his shin. He doesn't notice it yet; he's pretending to look riveted by Snape's rambling. It's slowly inching its way up his inner thigh. God, his legs are long. 

"S-shit!" He screams as he jumps up from his desk. Pansy Parkinson's head finally comes up off the desk, a bit of drool clinging to her thin lips. Weasley jumps and screams, brushing off his robes violently. He keeps giving these awful shudders, and turning a brutal shade of white. I think he might puke. I can't help but crack a sadistic smile. Potter gets up to save the day again. Too bad Father didn't finish him off when he had the chance. Oh well, he says it will happen soon. 

"What is it, Weasley?" Snape asks irritably as Ron lifts his robes up, and shakes them. 

"S-s-spi-d-der," he manages to spit out. I snicker loudly and the other Slytherins follow cue. It's at this point I wish I had a button that says "Weasley Stinks," as opposed to the Potter one I still carry around. Snape looks suddenly very amused as the excitable redhead begins raking his hands through his hair and shaking it. 

"Sit down Mr. Weasley," Snape growls as he walks over to Weasley. He looks down at the ground and sees the little black spider crawling across the floor. He stomps on the the black six-legged creature, which makes a horrible crunching noise, and says, "10 points from Gryffindor. Now, take your seat Mr. Weasley." The Gryffindor sits down, looking thoroughly mortified. Ah, my work here is done. 

*** 

My room is cold tonight. Crabbe and Goyle lay snoring in their beds while I try to block out the noise. It's a shame I don't know a spell for that. The green coverings around our beds are thick, but apparently not thick enough. The clock next to me reads 3:16 AM. I praise whatever God gives a shit that tomorrow's Saturday. I'm notoriously not a morning person. I hate the sun pouring through a well-placed window. I hate those awful birds chirping in the trees outside. 

My mind keeps returning to Weasley. What the fuck did he want? Normally a sneer or a stare from Weasley means a fist is about to fly, but today… Something's up. Those do-good Gryffindors are plotting something. Weasley can't hide a thing; that's why he was gaping at me. It must be revenge. Ever since the little scuffle with my father and his friends last year those Gryffindors have had something against me. Imagine, as though I had said, "Father. I hate Potter. Go kill him for me." It's absurd. It was really the Dark Lord saying that, or something similar to it. My father was just doing his bit to help humankind. Well, wizardkind really. 

That fucking Weasel. I need to do something. I can't just lie here like people aren't plotting against me. I need to take a walk. A walk will clear my mind. 

*** 

**Chapter One**

~~~~Draco~~~

Draco wondered why the school was always drafty. One could walk down a hallway one knew contained no windows, and yet cold air would still whip wildly at one's face. Draco felt like getting lost that night. He felt like wandering aimlessly until by some odd chance he ended up back in the Slytherin common room. He took a left at the suit of armor and walked up a staircase he'd never taken before. 

As though footsteps were echoing in his mind, Draco began to hear something coming down the stairs toward him. The Slytherin knew better that to mess with Filch and leapt behind the nearest tapestry. He listened intently behind the thick fabric, listening as the footsteps clunked down the stairs. His breath catching in his throat, Draco peered out from behind the curtain. Amazingly, no one was there. Yet her was positive there was a considerable thud going down the stairs. 'Potter,' he thought. 'Stupid, fucking invisibility cloak. Thinks he's so clever.' Draco had discovered Potter's cloak one night when he had taken one of his routine walks around the school. Potter wasn't very careful with it, he had slid the cloak off his head to get a drink from the school water fountain. He hadn't even checked to see if anyone was around. 

Silently, Draco crept out from behind the curtain and stepped out on the steps. Not a sound was made as he walked down the stairs. He put his arms out in front of him and began to grope at the air. Then as if by some divine force he stepped on the invisible fabric. Magically a bright red head appeared in front of him, dancing by itself in the night. 

*** 

~~~Ron~~~

He couldn't believe it. What could have triggered all of this? One minute he's desperately wanting Fleur, the next Hermione, and now, now… Malfoy. He wanted to puke just thinking about it. One morning he just woke up, and Malfoy was in all his thoughts. Everything was about him. And for once it wasn't just hatred. Oh God, what was he going to do? 

Today had been awful. Not only was it impossible to hide his feelings from Harry and Hermione, it seemed Malfoy had noticed them, too. When he ran into the boy that afternoon he thought he'd die right there. He wanted to kill him, but that wasn't the only feeling present. The typical reaction would have been "punch on sight," but the second Ron touched him he'd have been in way over his head. What would have happened if Ron grabbed the unsuspecting Slytherin for a kiss? It would probably wipe that sneer off his pale pointed face. Although, that was a significant part of the attraction. Oh god! What was he talking about? 

There was a sharp pain in his stomach. Was he developing an ulcer? Oh, no, wait, he was just hungry. He wondered briefly if Harry would mind if Ron borrowed the invisibility cloak. This was an emergency, he was a growing boy, and he needed food. He walked quietly to the foot of Harry's bed and pulled out the familiar fabric of the cloak. He wrapped it tightly around himself, and walked out the door. He quietly padded towards the opening of the Gryffindor common room and began to walk down the hall. Curse his large feet for making so much noise. Shame he hadn't picked up the Marauder's Map too. He thudded down the long staircase trying to distract his rumbling stomach by thoughts of Malfoy. Brrr. It was cold in these halls. His head was beginning to feel uncommonly cold. Ron turned slowly behind him. He nearly passed out when he saw the smirking face of Draco Malfoy staring back at him. "Malfoy!?" 

"Weasel, just what are you doing here? And," he added with a smug smile, "wearing an invisibility cloak. Which of your fire-haired, Muggle-loving siblings did you have to sell to afford that?" 

"Fuck off Malfoy," Ron replied, afraid that if he said too much he might not be able to stop himself. 

"Oh, Weasley. You're so predictable," Draco said, eyes squinted into deadly slits. He began to inch closer to Ron. Their eyes were level only because Draco was a step higher than Ron was. 

"Fuck off, Malfoy," Ron repeated through gritted teeth. 

"No," Draco replied, simply getting even closer to Ron. Ron tried desperately hard not to shudder as the Slytherin kept inching closer and closer. He couldn't fight this much longer. And why was Malfoy inching forward like that? Did he want him too? Was it time to show that Gryffindor courage and make a move? They were inches away from each other as it was, and Ron's heart rate was steadily increasing with each breath. He couldn't help himself any longer. Ron was a creature of impulse; too much thinking would spoil this. Ron placed his hot lips against Malfoy's and pressed into the pale boy. 

Immediately Malfoy's body tensed, as the Slytherin drew hastily away. 

"What the fuck are you doing Weasley?!" Malfoy spat on the floor, looking horrified. Oh shit, this wasn't the reaction Ron was hoping for. "I'm not a fucking queer! I can't believe you. You're sick! Fuck, Weasley, I knew you were fucked up, but… How could you do such a disgusting thing? Fucking pervert!" The enraged Slytherin was inching backwards, as though Ron was the Black Plague. 

"I- I…" Ron stammered. How was he going to fix this situation? He'd messed it all up now. Malfoy was going to tell everyone. He was going to humiliate him in front of the entire school. 

"Don't tell fucking anyone Weasel. I don't want anyone to know you practically raped me!" 

"I didn't rape you," Ron finally managed to say. 

"Don't talk to me. You're sick. I would say you're going to pay for my therapy, but I forgot who I was talking to. Don't so much as look at me, Weasley; if you do, you'll fucking regret it." And with that, Draco practically leapt back down the stairs. 

'Oh, shit,' Ron thought as he slumped down onto the step, and wrapped the invisibility cloak around himself. This had to be the worst day of his life. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Rating:** R 

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter and Co. I simply toy with their minds 

**Warnings:** This is slash, feel free to skip this story if you're not into that. 

~~~~Ron~~~

Ron couldn't think of eating anymore. Amazingly, food was the last thing on the Gryffindor's mind. Ron sat on the stairs for nearly an hour before he heard Mrs. Norris bounding the length of the stairs to rat him out. Now the distraught redhead lay silently in his bed contemplating the night gone by. 

Malfoy wasn't gay. Ron had secretly always known that, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Come to think of it, Ron wasn't gay either, he was just… leaving his options open. But the pale Slytherin was so bloody hot. What was Ron thinking? He gave a hopeless turn in his bed and grumbled into his pillow. Why did he have to be so stupid? But still, at least he did get to kiss Malfoy. For half a brief, shinning moment it almost seemed that his hopes were coming true. But, god, he was so stupid. 

*** 

~~~Draco~~~

Weasley permeated his mind. Everything about the night was re-played in his mind a million times over. The queer look in Weasley's eyes, the quickening of breath, the hesitant lips moving forward to lightly brush his own. This was a fucking nightmare. What was the Weasel thinking? Maybe he hadn't handled the situation correctly. Blowing up at the boy was probably a sick turn on for that red-haired freak. Oh, god, Weasley turned on. The thought wanted to make the paler-than usual Slytherin wretch. 

What gave Weasley the impression that Draco was… a homo? Malfoys weren't homos. Didn't he know? Weasley was stupider than Draco could have ever imagined. What if the Weasley freak told someone about what happened? God forbid that he have to explain the situation to Crabbe and Goyle. 

But, still, why did Weasley think Draco was gay? Why?! The idea was absurd. Draco scoffed into the air. 'Bastard. When Father hears about this, well,, let's just say Weasley will wish he had never been born.' Wait, could he even tell his father? He could picture the conversation. 

"Father. Weasley tried to kiss me!" 

"What would give him the idea to?" His father would drawl lazily. 

"I, I don't know." 

"No son of mine will be a queer," his father would reply in a disturbingly calm voice. 

"I'm not. It's just those Weasleys…" 

"Get my wand." 

And that would be the end of the conversation. No, no, Draco wouldn't tell his father what happened. And it wasn't as though Draco didn't deserve the punishments. He fully understood why his Father did it. It was for the Dark Lord. Everything Father did was for the Dark Lord, and nothing pleased Draco's father more than Draco's willingness to join the Death Eaters. In fact, Draco was excited about it himself. His whole life he'd heard about the great things the Death Eaters had done. The thought of joining had always pleased him. 

'That'll show Weasel I'm not a flaming homo,' Draco thought as he smiled cruelly into the darkness of the Slytherin common room. 

The next morning, Draco woke to a large black eagle owl tapping at his window. Immediately he recognized it as his father's and rushed to lift open the window. The owl dropped a letter into Draco's hands and swooped back out into the gray morning. Quickly Draco tore open the letter and read: 

Draco, 

You have been accepted into the Death Eaters. Your initiation will be October thirty-first at 9:00 PM. I've been told to let you know that no one is to know about this meeting, or your acceptance into the Death Eaters. Of course I'm sure you've learned that well enough from me. I'm proud of you, son, and I will see you on the thirty-first. 

Sincerely, 

Lucius Malfoy 

Draco looked down at the impeccable script and read "I'm proud of you," a dozen more times. After the initial shock of the statement Draco whipped out his wand and pointed it at the slip of parchment. "Incendio!" The letter burst into flames as Draco threw it on the ground. Once the flames had been properly stomped out, he looked at the gray room. Crabbe and Goyle lay in their respective beds, snoring loudly, oblivious to the world around them. 

Draco sighed as he glanced at his two "friends" and decided to go down to breakfast. It was still fairly early, and he prayed that Weasley hadn't gone down to breakfast early. He silently slipped on his black robes before exiting the dungeon-like room. He walked down the long corridors of Hogwarts Castle, thinking again of the letter. In nearly three weeks he was going to receive the Dark Mark. His father would most likely give it to him, as he loved to give the Dark Mark to all new recruits. The process involved some sort of ceremony, which resulted in the excruciatingly painful process of having the Dark Mark, burned into one's flesh. 

His father would be proud though. Draco wouldn't cry either. He'd show that he was a true Malfoy, he wasn't weak. 

Draco blew threw the doors of the Great Hall. 

"Watch it!" came an annoyed voice as Draco smashed past. The pale Slytherin made an immediate halt and turned around to glare at the unintentional, but no less welcome, victim and started. "Weasley!" Draco said with wide eyes. 'Shit, that was smooth.' The Slytherin attempted to compose himself, but figured he'd already lost face. "What do you think you're doing?" he whispered in an annoyed growl. 

"I, I," stuttered the now highly embarrassed redhead. His pink lips parted in panic as he debated what to do. "I…I," then as though realizing the appropriate response, he spit out, "get out of my way, Malfoy." 

Draco taking the cue, replied in kind. "Out of my way Weasel." 'Short and sweet,' he thought to himself as he walked to the Slytherin table. He walked quickly to the table thinking of all the wonderfully murderous things he'd do to the red-haired Weasel once he was a Death Eater. 

Draco buttered his toast viciously as he watched the Gryffindor table with fury. Weasley was just sitting there, as though nothing had happened. What was that homo's problem? And how could he be a homo? He was infamous for slobbering all over that veela girl in fifth year, and he was more than likely fucking the Mudblood. He crammed the heavily buttered toast into his mouth, and chewed furiously, keeping his gaze planted at the Gryffindor table. Why did all these Gryffindors always have to get up so early? It was a bloody Saturday, sleep in! He stared in disgust at the now nearly full table. Ron sat between to the Mudblood and Longbottom. 

Ron even looked happy. He sat there laughing hysterically at Longbottom, but really, who could blame him? But how could the carrot-toped git forget his ever-increasing love for a certain beautiful Slytherin? It was obvious the Gryffindor was obsessed with Draco. It was blatantly obvious the more he thought about it. Fuck, what was Weasley laughing at? 

*** 

~~~Ron~~~

"No way, Neville. You have to do it," Ron managed to say between hysterical bouts of laughter. 

"Yep. You lost the bet, Neville," Colin Creevy said as he nodded his agreement. 

Neville looked at the sea of gleaming Gryffindor faces and sighed. "Okay," he said as he looked down into his cereal bowl. "But do I have to do it right… here?" 

"Yes, of course. Don't worry, Longbottom, I'm sure hardly anyone will notice," Dean Thomas said as he grinned widely at the chubby boy. 

Neville gave a final sigh and heaved himself up from the table. 

"I'm a little tea pot," Neville sang quietly as the entire Gryffindor table burst into hysterics. 

"No! Louder, Longbottom, can't hear you down here!" Seamus Finnigan shouted from the end of the table. 

"I'M A LITTLE TEA POT," Neville yelled. "Short and stout. Here is my handle," he waddled to and fro as he placed his hand on his hip, demonstrating the handle. "And here is my spout," he lifted his right arm up. "When I get all steamed up then I shout, 'tip me over,'" here he leaned a little to the side. "'And pour me out!'" The Gryffindor table roared with a shower of laughter and applause. 

"Encore!" yelled a few Ravenclaws. 

"Bravecimo!" screamed Dean and Seamus. Neville sat back down, his face an awful shade of crimson. Ron sat next to him, tears of laughter streamed down his face as he slammed his fist repeatedly on the table. Even Hermione was laughing as Harry rolled around on the floor, practically turning blue with laughter. 

"Great, Neville, just great," Ron finally said after he'd calmed a bit. He smacked Neville on the back and began shoveling bacon down his throat. That was exactly what Ron needed, to just forget about his troubles and laugh. Even Malfoy couldn't ruin this. Oh, Malfoy. Nope, he wasn't going to look at the Slytherin table, it wasn't worth it. He didn't care if the silver-haired boy was dancing naked on the table top. 

There was no way he was going to look. 

Ron looked up from his cereal to meet the Slytherin's intense gaze. Ron's eyes widened as the Slytherin glared back. 

"What's Malfoy gawking at?" Harry asked leaning across Hermione. "He's been glaring at you since we came down to breakfast." 

"Oh, huh, ya. That's weird," Ron said, looking down into his cereal again. Boy, those corn flakes sure were exciting. 

Hermione gave him an odd squint, but said nothing. 

*** 

~~~Draco~~~

Draco Malfoy sat couched in his bed. There were things to be learned, no doubt, but something else was contaminating his mind. That fucking Weasel. He felt like justice wasn't being served. There needed to be a punishment for the boy. But who was there to tell? Telling Father was out of the question. Dumbledore? No. Punishment for a member of the Dream Team was a foreign concept. Maybe Snape. 

No. There was really only one thing to do. Become a Death Eater. His father had sent him several spellbooks that were "required reading." Draco had been studying furiously; he wasn't going to disappoint his father. Books lay in scattered torrents across his bed. Along Crabbe's and Goyle's beds there was also a plethora of books, however none of them had been opened. Their fathers, too, were pressuring them into joining. That meant all three would be initiated on the thirty-first. Draco was in dire need of standing out, making some sort of impression on the Dark Lord, or even his father. 

Somewhere still buried inside his mind were all these thoughts of Weasley. No matter how much he studied Weasley was still gnawing at his brain. The Slytherin was beginning to panic. What did this all mean? Was he, Draco Malfoy, a fag? Of course fucking not. He didn't giggle, or bat his eyelashes, he didn't check out guys in the bathrooms; he wasn't gay. It wasn't like he thought about the redheaded boy touching him, or grabbing him. Draco swallowed hard. It wasn't like he thought back to their first year when the two had a major fight. Weasley's long legs wrapped over Draco's body. Their bodies and faces close, their breath coming out in pants, Weasley's freckled and madly reddened face. Oh, fuck. 

He wasn't a fag. He wasn't a fag. Why was this affecting him? Why? There could be nothing worse than this. He'd rather die a thousand deaths than be a homo. Draco sat seething in his bed. How dare a Weasley make a Malfoy squirm? It was absurd. Draco had to prove himself. He bolted upright and grabbed a book entitled "Introduction to Destruction: a Beginners Guide." He'd show them, he'd prove to everyone that he was a worthy son, an evil git, a Malfoy, and most importantly not a fucking homo. 


	3. Chapter Three

**Rating:** R 

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter and Co. I simply toy with their minds 

**Warnings:** This is slash, feel free to skip this story if you're not into that. 

**A/N:** See end of chapter for Dee's normal blabbing. 

*~*~ Ron *~*~ 

Ron sat in History of Magic doodling as usual. Harry was sneaking a read in a comic book Ron had bought him for his birthday and even Hermione was yawning as Professor Binns spewed forth another God-awful lecture. Ron let his quill flow across the page. He didn't even realize what he'd drawn until he looked down at the parchment. He nearly ripped the paper on the spot as he looked into the cool eyes of Draco Malfoy. 

This past month had been torture. He was thinking that the obsession would pass, especially after throwing himself at the boy. But, no, it only seemed that his desire had intensified. He was lusting after the Slytherin as though he were the last lifeboat on a sinking ship. He wanted Malfoy, bad. He was even beginning to wonder, again, whether the Slytherin wanted him too. He knew it was a figment of his imagination, but sometimes he could swear that Malfoy was staring at him. Like this morning at breakfast, Ron had been eating his way through a large plate of sausages, minding his own business when Harry had tapped him on the shoulder.

"Wha?" Ron had asked with a mouthful of sausages.

"Don't look now, but Malfoy's been staring at you for the last ten minutes," Harry had replied, trying not to move his mouth too much.

Ron had swallowed. "Malfoy?"

"Yeah. Something's going on with him. I can't say that I miss the snide comments he makes, but haven't you noticed a definite decline in them? When was the last time he called me 'Scar Face'? Or made fun of your family? He's up to something." 

"Oh. You know. It's Malfoy. Something's always up with him, right Hermione?" He had hoped Hermione would take a more sensible look at this situation. Ron, however, had been a little disappointed.

"I don't know, Ron. It seems to me that something is going on with him. And today hasn't been the first day he's stared at you, Ron. Maybe you should contact Sirius, Harry. He said if anything strange is going on to write him."

"Oh come on!" Ron had said. What were they going on about? There was no reason to contact Sirius. What would he even say? 'Oh, Malfoy must be plotting a diabolical scheme to get to Harry through Ron.' Sometimes… "You're all just overreacting. I'm sure Malfoy is just angry because there's that game against Slytherin next week."

To say Ron hadn't noticed some sort of change in Malfoy would be a lie, however. There was a definite eerie sort of quiet that had come across the boy. He even looked more pale than usual. There was something very dark about Malfoy that had never been there before. Sure, Malfoy had always been an evil git, but now he seemed dark, and creepy. But it wasn't exactly a turn-off. God, now he was really going mad. 

***

~~~Draco~~~

Draco sat in his room waiting for the Halloween feast to begin. He was incredibly nervous, but more than prepared for the upcoming events. Crabbe and Goyle were trying to spend their last few hours reading the books that their fathers had sent them. It was a useless struggle, seeing as how the two of them could barely form sentences let alone read them. Draco stood up and began pacing the perimeter of his room. There was a definite tightness in his chest, but it was such an excited nervousness. He needed a distraction. 

The last month had been hell for Draco. He'd been getting letters from his father daily. The last one had erupted into flames by the time he was done reading it. There was important information in that one, and Draco knew why desperate measures needed to be taken. It's not as though his father had intended on burning his hand. 

Draco knew what he was to do. The Halloween feast would begin at 7:00 and would end between 8:00 and 8:30. He had to attend that, or Dumbledore would get suspicious. Then he was to go for a "walk" with Crabbe and Goyle. They were to go to the harbor where the Hogwarts boats had taken them their first year. Their fathers would be waiting for them in a boat where they would then be taken to an undisclosed area and given their Dark Marks. 

Draco walked to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room and looked in. He had to admit it. He looked like shit. He had really let himself go this past month. There was so much to think about, though. He had been studying the books, and letters his had father had sent him as though it was life and death. And he wondered if maybe they weren't. And Weasley hadn't been making it any easier for him. The red-haired Gryffindor hadn't left his mind since… That Night. He had been watching the boy; studying him as though he were a part of the lesson plan his father had worked out for him. Draco still wasn't a fag though. He just couldn't help himself. The boy enraged him. How dare he, how dare he? 

"Draco?" Crabbe called from his bed, snapping Draco out of his self-induced trance. 

"What?" Draco snapped back. He didn't want to be disturbed.

"It's 6:50." 

"So?" Draco replied. He knew what Crabbe was talking about; he just enjoyed seeing the boy squirm. 

"Oh, I, uh… Never mind."

"Get up. It's time to go," Draco said, putting on his black cloak. Crabbe and Goyle rose from their beds, and followed Draco to the door. "And remember, no one is to know about what's going on tonight."

The three boys walked down the dark Hogwarts hallways and into the Great Hall. The tables had been laid out with a huge feast, complete with an assortment of candies and desserts, as well as several large jack-o-lanterns. The room was fairly dark, except for the light coming from the few black and orange candles hovering above the tables, and the light from the full moon above. Draco took his seat near the front of the table, and Crabbe and Goyle sat on either side of him. 

Dumbledore walked to the front of the hall, and gave his regular spiel about Halloween. Which included: don't go to the Forbidden Forest, don't steal candy from the kitchens, and also that the staff was a high alert for pranks. Here Dumbledore looked poignantly at the Weasley twins, who smiled cheekily back. 

Draco didn't have much to eat that night, but knew that he'd want the candy later, so he stuffed some in the pockets of his cloak. He looked around as the rest of the school shoveled massive heaps into their mouths, talking and laughing at the same time. Any other day and he would have been doing this himself, although not quite so nauseatingly, but he was too nervous tonight. He almost loathed the rest of the Slytherins who weren't being forced to join the Death Eaters. Most of their fathers thought them too young to be a part of such a dark and secretive thing. But his father had been planning to initiate him since the Dark Lord came back to power. His father knew that Draco was ready to become a Death Eater, even if Draco didn't. 

Draco looked back over to the Gryffindor table where Weasley was also shoving food into his mouth at an almost sickening and yet endearing rate. The red-haired boy was laughing with the Mudblood and Scar Face as though nothing mattered. He envied them. Especially Weasley. What did he ever have to worry about? The boy had no pressures, or restraints. He was allowed to be sixteen. Just sixteen. Draco was pressured into being an adult. Taking up the "family trade" and all that. But, he wanted it too. He wanted to be a part of what his father did, he wanted his father to be proud of him.

Eventually the kids in the hall diminished and went back to their common rooms. Draco, Crabbe and Goyle where some of the last to leave, followed closely by Weasley, whose own friends had already gone up to their common room. It was awkward to walk in front of the boy. He tried not to look back but couldn't help himself. He turned his head and glared at the tall boy. 

"Oh, Weasley. I thought I smelled something." The Gryffindor glared back, and gave him the one-fingered salute. Had this been a different situation, that would have been grounds for a swift beating from Crabbe and Goyle. But, sadly, there was no time tonight. 

"Leave me alone, Malfoy. Unless you want to do something about it." 

"I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you Weasley?" Draco cocked an eyebrow. The freckled boy blushed slightly and walked hurriedly up a flight of stairs. Draco watched for a moment as the long legs ascended up the staircase. He shook himself out of his trance and began leading his two friends down to the harbor. Finally they reached the giant dock, and saw their fathers sitting on the deck of the large black sailboat. His father nodded his head at the boys, and set out a plank for them to use to climb on the ship. 

Draco went first, followed by Crabbe and finally Goyle. His father looked down and looked into his eyes in that intense way that made you feel as though you'd done something wrong. 

"You haven't told anyone, right?"

"No," Draco replied. Of course, this was the first thing his father would say. Nothing as trivial as "Hello." Or, "How are you, son?"

"Good. And you've studied the material I've sent you?"

"Yes, sir." 

"Good. It's time, then." And with that the ship set sail at top speed out of Hogwarts. 

* * *

A/N~ As always this for the hep chicks at the P&P. And to that groovy cat Maud for being such a fabulicous beta! 


	4. Chapter Four

**Rating:** R 

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter and Co. I simply toy with their minds Warnings: This is slash, feel free to skip this story if you're not into that. 

***Ron***

"Ron, Ron, wake up!" 

"That wasn't a foul," Ron bellowed as he wearily opened his eyes to a black haired blur that he reckoned was Harry. "Huh? Wha time's it?" Ron asked groggily. 

"Uhm, I think it's 3:00," Harry replied, still beaming as he looked down at Ron. "I have to tell you something." 

"What?" Ron grumbled, trying to roll over, but found that impossible, as the small wizard was perched on top of his legs. He had finally fallen asleep after hours of waiting for Harry to get back from an "urgent" Quidditch meeting. They hadn't even gone to Hogsmeade like Harry had promised. "Can't this wait? I was having this bloody brilliant dream. Malfoy and I were playing Quidditch over a volcano, and I knocked him off his broom with the tail of my broom. Then I went—" 

"Ron! I have to tell you, I just got back from being with Cho." 

Ron looked up at Harry, realizing he was no longer tired. He didn't even know Harry was still interested in Cho, let alone spending an entire night with her. "How was it?" 

"It was amazing. It was everything I ever thought it would be." Harry was getting a very uncharacteristic misty tone to his voice. The boy was glowing, and Ron wasn't sure it suited him. 

"Oh," Ron replied trying to sound interested. There was something about him being with Cho that made Ron feel very uncomfortable. The fact that Harry was still sitting on Ron's abdomen wasn't helping things much. It wasn't like he had a crush on Harry. Or, maybe he'd never given any thought to it. 

"I wish I could explain it," Harry said, reddening a bit. Ron wondered what was bringing that odd look into Harry's eyes. Those green spheres piercing into his own, making Ron feel … bizarre. It was like Harry was searching for something that Ron knew wasn't even there. 

"You, you could show me," Ron looked up seriously at Harry. Six years of feelings were swishing inside him, getting jumbled and confused. 

To Ron's great surprise, Harry didn't look at him with disgust. He barely even registered the comment. "I can't show you." 

Ron looked back at his best friend, the pale black haired boy with the glasses. If you looked at him just right, sometimes you wouldn't even notice the scar. Harry just kept focusing on Ron, giving Ron the feeling of his mind being read. Harry placed his hand on Ron's thigh, and for a split second Ron thought Harry was going to show him. But, Harry was just trying to gain some leverage as he removed himself from Ron. 

"I'm not gay, Ron." 

At that moment Ron felt as though a bucket of boiling hot water had been thrown all over his face. His skin burned in embarrassment. Ron had never considered himself being gay. In fact, he knew he wasn't. Did it always have to be about that? Couldn't he just like someone for the sake of liking him? Why did this rejection and humiliation always have to happen to him?! "I'm not gay either," Ron managed to say as Harry hopped on to the cold wooden floor 

"I know, Ron. I know. Goodnight." 

"Night," Ron grumbled miserably back. 

Ron knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep with so much swimming around in his mind. He waited until he could no longer hear the restless tosses from Harry's bed, and quietly pushed down the sheets from his bed. He stumbled out of his four-poster and grabbed for his robe. He haphazardly threw the black material over his cold body, slipped on a pair of shoes, and walked as quietly as he could across the creaking boards of the dorm. 

As he slipped out the door, Ron took a deep breath and tried to tiptoe down the clunky oak stairs. As he walked into the common room he noticed the fire was still going, and from the glow if it he could just make out a bushy-haired witch. 

"Hermione?" Ron asked, she nearly leapt out of her seat at the sound of him. 

"Ron! You scared me. What are you doing? Where are you going?" 

Somewhere deep inside himself he wanted to tell her everything. Everything about Malfoy, about Harry. But he couldn't. She wouldn't understand. 

"Just going for a walk," Ron said, shrugging his shoulders. "Why are you still up?" 

"Well, actually, I was," Hermione was beginning to turn a bit pink. "I was thinking about you." 

_'Oh, god.__ Why is she thinking about me?'_ Ron thought. He couldn't take one more emotion. Was his life a fucking soap opera? Why couldn't she have told him this last year, you know, when he wasn't lusting after Malfoy? Ron felt like either breaking into tears, or throwing something against the wall. His emotions were being put on one of those sickening Muggle amusement rides, and they weren't happy about it. 

Hermione apparently noticed the sudden paling of her friend, and walked over to him. "Ron, what's wrong? You've been so distant lately. Are you okay?" 

He couldn't do it, he didn't want to have this conversation right now. And before he realized what he was doing he had run out the door and down a long flight of stairs. He didn't even look back; Hermione would forgive him in the morning because right now his body was telling him to keep running. Ron leapt down a second flight of stairs, sometimes taking two or three at a time. As the loud stomps were echoing through the quiet corridors, Ron felt sure Filch would catch him at the next bend, but amazingly he never came. Even as Ron swung out through the heavy oak doors to the cold October night, there was no Filch. 

As Ron stepped onto the green turf of the Hogwarts grounds he began to slow a bit. It was a lot darker than he anticipated and he had forgotten his wand, so the _"lumos!"_ possibility was non-existent. He could barely see the end of his nose, let alone three feet in front of him. Ron began to wonder if he was being overly dramatic when he heard something he was sure was a laugh. And not just a laugh, really, a cackle. A Malfoy cackle. 

Ron stopped dead in his tracks, and whipped his head around to find the source. And sure enough there he was, silver hair illuminated in the moonlight, eyes flashing, face… well, pointed. Malfoy looked different, though. His usual sneer looked more deadly tonight that it had in months. Ron definitely wanted no part in whatever Malfoy was doing at this time of the night, and hoped the Slytherin wouldn't see him as he walked by. 

Ron held his breath as Malfoy kept walking closer. Why did the evil git need to walk so slowly? And where were his goons? Ron couldn't figure out why Malfoy would be out at this hour, especially without Crabbe and Goyle. Ron could feel his heart thumping through his robes. 

"Oh, Weasley?" Malfoy drawled. Fuck, Ron was found out. And from the tone of Malfoy's voice, Ron could tell he was feeling particularly vengeful tonight. He'd probably want to pay him back for the stair incident. 

"What is it, Malfoy?" Ron said, trying to make sure his voice didn't quiver. 

"Trying to hide?" Malfoy crooned, his fabulous smirk creeping onto his lips 

"Why would I want to hide from you?" Ron asked quickly, narrowing his eyes at his evil arch-nemesis. Forget the fact that Ron had tried to kiss the pointy-faced bastard. Malfoy was still Ron's sworn enemy, and by sixteen-year-old law this type of confrontation was more than necessary. 

"Learn when to keep your mouth shut, Weasel. Especially around me, now." Malfoy suddenly got a tone of seriousness about him, and stood up as tall as he could. However, the top of Malfoy's head just barely Ron's eye level (and Ron had notoriously bad posture). Ron just rolled his eyes in response. 

"What's that supposed to mean, Malfoy? Did daddy buy you some new thugs that actually have brains? I mean, God knows there's no way you could get friends on your own." 

It seemed Ron had hit a nerve, because Malfoy turned on like a switch. Immediately the shorter boy leapt on top of Ron, pinning him down with his bony knees, and grabbing Ron by the collar. Ron's anger swelled at this point. He wasn't going to get pushed around by a Slytherin, and a Malfoy at that. Before Malfoy could even grasp what was happening, Ron had violently flipped them so he was now pinning Malfoy to the ground by his wrists, sinking whatever nubs he had for nails into Malfoy's skin. He was really going to enjoy punching this bastard. 

"Get off of me, you oaf," Malfoy growled as he tried desperately to throw Ron off of him, pushing the wide sleeves of his robes to his elbows. 

"No way, you've had this coming." Ron glanced quickly at his hands, trying to decide how best to pin the smaller boy's wrists while still getting a decent hit, when he noticed it. There on Malfoy's left arm was… the Dark Mark. 

Ron panicked, he gasped and let go of Malfoy's wrists, giving the Slytherin a perfect opportunity to throw the shocked Gryffindor off of him. Ron flopped onto the damp grass. 

"Don't fuck with me, Weasel." Draco hoisted himself off the ground and began to brush himself off over Ron. Ron lay motionless as bits of grass smacked him in the face. It seemed that either Malfoy hadn't noticed that Ron had seen his Dark Mark, or simply hadn't cared. 

"I, I saw it," Ron said as the disheveled Slytherin flicked a blade of grass of his impeccable skin. Draco stiffened, eyes growing momentarily wide, and then went back to brushing himself off. Acting as though nothing had happened. 

"What are you talking about?" Malfoy asked simply. 

"I saw it. On, on your arm," Ron said as he leaned up. Malfoy gave a final, and rather harsh tug at his robes and glared down at Ron. 

"You didn't see anything. God help me, Weasel. You're standing on thin ice." 

Ron finally stood up. He'd had enough of Malfoy. He was going to punch in that perfect pointy nose of his. So what if Ron still had a major thing for the boy? Malfoy had it coming. 

Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron had drawn back his fist and launched it forward like some kind of wild sledgehammer, just praying his fist landed somewhere, and that it hurt Ron watched as though it were in slow motion. Malfoy's eyes widened in horror as Ron's fist collided with his pointy nose. Malfoy, almost comically, flew backwards into the damp grass, his once-impeccable robes now covered again in bits of grass and dirt. 

He stared up at Ron, as a trickle of crimson blood dribbled from his nostril. "You made me bleed," he said blandly as the blood spilled onto his lower lip. Malfoy darted his tongue out, almost teasingly, and licked the substance from his lips. "I don't like blood." And the now paler than usual Slytherin collapsed back onto the grass. 

_'Oh God,'_ Ron thought. _'I've killed him.'_ Ron looked down at the unconscious boy in front of him. What the hell was he going to do now? He could shave his head, maybe move to Africa, or maybe India. However, thoughts of fleeing the country and joining a Tibetan monastery were momentarily pushed out of his mind as he saw the Slytherin's blonde eyelashes twitch. "Malfoy?" Ron said quietly. The boy didn't move. "Malfoy?" Ron asked a bit louder as he kicked him lightly. This seemed to make all the difference. Malfoy's hand shot up to grab Ron's ankle, and Ron tumbled on top of the Slytherin. 

Immediately Ron began to blush, and prayed profusely that he wouldn't get a hard-on. Unfortunately his body didn't seem to agree with his mind. Ron tried to lift himself off of the smaller boy, but quickly came to realize he was stuck. Malfoy was holding fiercely onto Ron's cloak, starring into his face as though he had never even seen him before. "Wait, don't leave." 

***Draco***

Before he could even wrap his mind around the thought, he had spoken._ "Don't leave?"_ What did he mean, don't leave? Weasley was of no importance to him; and yet, he still said it. 

Weasley glared down at him. He quizzically quirked an eyebrow. And Draco had the distinct impression the Gryffindor was wondering if this was some sort of set-up. It wasn't meant to be, although now it certainly could be disguised as one. 

Draco was still gripping hard onto the Gryffindor's tattered robes. He carelessly began to fidget with a thread that had come loose in the hem. Draco tried in vain to act as though it was a perfectly normal thing to have your arch nemesis perched on top of you, his definite hard-on poking into your abdomen. 

The moment hadn't lasted more than a few seconds, but to Draco it had been an awakening. He felt the pain still searing in his left arm as he looked again into the dull blue eyes of the boy before him. He couldn't resist any longer. Every part of his brain was screaming not to do it, but he couldn't hold back. He pulled harshly at the redhead's thick tangles, and dragged him to meet his lips. No resistance, only passion as their lips met in a ghostly whisper. 

But Draco wasn't a fucking faerie. He was going to do this the right way, like a Malfoy (if Malfoys did this type of thing…). He pressed deeply into the kiss; hardly even registering the passion had been there for so long. He explored the hot inner workings of Weasley's mouth. His tongue played over the boy's teeth, smooth. And the Gryffindor began to relax on top of him, but never in control. Draco was always in control. 

Draco's arms wrapped around the thin red head, clutching onto his robes. He separated momentarily from the redhead's penetrating kiss, and with a sudden burst of passion rolled over on top of him. Weasley looked blank faced, shocked as though he was only just realizing what was happening. Draco could still feel the boy's bulge poking into him. He smirked down as he slowly shifted the lower half of his body over the other boy's stiffness, making Weasley close his eyes and swallow hard. 

"Like that Weasley?" Draco said smugly. The Gryffindor didn't need to respond. He looked up into Draco's eyes and blushed. It was possibly the most wonderful thing Draco had seen. And the boy underneath him was driving him insane. Draco smirked again, and came down on the other boy's throat. Between the two of them he was trying to undo the Gryffindor's robes, his fingers clumsily fumbling with the fastenings. But before Draco had made any progress in undressing the entirely-too-sexy redhead, a hand had gripped hard on his wrist. It startled Draco as Weasley pulled his arm to his swollen pink lips. 

Weasley, still red but looking more focused, began to quickly roll back the sleeve of Draco's robes. Before Draco could pull his arm away, Weasley had pressed his scorchingly hot mouth to the newly acquired, and still rather inflamed, Dark Mark. It was an amazing feeling, some light-headed sensation between anguish and passion. Weasley's magnetic blue eyes peered into his own gray ones as he kissed, sucked, and licked at the scar. Draco lightly shut his eyes, the intensity of this moment too consuming. 

And before he could truly enjoy it, he had whipped his arm from Weasley's grip. What the fuck was he doing? Weasley couldn't know about the Death Eaters. He'd been a member no longer than two hours, and already his enemy knew. Why not just go tell fucking Dumbledore? His father was going to be furious. 

"Don't fucking do that," Draco spat maliciously. "Don't you fucking do that, faggot. I'M NOT LIKE YOU!" Draco leapt off the boy's warm body and ran. 

Somewhere in the distance he could hear Weasley fall onto his back and grumble, "I hate my life." 


	5. Chapter Five

**Rating:** R – For NC-17 please go to my author's page for the link. Sorry, ff.net has been stripping links. 

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter and Co. I simply toy with their minds 

**Warnings:** This is slash, feel free to skip this story if you're not into that. 

**A/N:** See end of chapter for Dee's normal blabbing. 

~*~* Ron *~*~ 

Ron lay slumped on the grass, staring up at the stars. Did anything ever go right for him? Was it really that impossible to have something good happen for a change? For those few moments he had managed to forget everything else in the world. There was only Malfoy, and the damp grass underneath them. Ron hadn't been the only person involved in that kiss.Malfoy was all over him. So what was his problem? 

The Dark Mark. Ron hadn't planned on going for it. There was just something about that black scar against Malfoy's perfectly white skin that triggered something in Ron. He felt like he had to taste it, that smooth metallic skin, and to feel the way Draco shivered under Ron's persistent kisses. For God's sake, the boy had been practically shaking with passion. And he hadn't been alone. Ron had never felt that way before, so out of control, and so intensely wanting Malfoy. Ron shuddered remembering Malfoy's hands playing in his hair, touching his body. It had been too much. He couldn't be blamed for doing stupid things. He had wanted Malfoy for such a long time now, to taste those beautiful pink lips; he wanted to feel his warm breath against his skin. 

So, what was it? What did this all mean? Malfoy was a Death Eater. He was a member of an elite (or semi-elite) group of dark wizards probably programmed to seek and destroy Harry, and Ron was practically shagging him on Hogwarts' front lawn. Normally if he had seen anything resembling the Dark Mark burned into Malfoy's flesh, he would have run straight to Harry and Hermione. That would have been the big project for the year: how do we defeat Death-Eater-Malfoy? But, all of that was impossible; Hermione and Harry would ask too many questions, and Ron wasn't good at lying. 

He'd have to just bottle it up. But Hermione had already seen him flee the confines of the cozy Gryffindor tower to go flying down the castle staircase like some kind of lunatic. Ron grumbled and threw his arms skyward in frustration. This was not his day. And he still had to go back to his dorm to face not only Hermione, the one who wanted to confess her undying love for Ron, but also to Harry. His best friend, and the boy he'd just made a pass at. 

This was one of the rare times he wished Percy was still around. Sometimes, when Ron was fighting with Harry, Percy let him sleep in his dorm. There was an extra bed because of the small class size of Percy's year. He could possibly go up to Fred and George's room, one of them would share a bed, but it would definitely warrant a borage of questions in the morning. And not to mention, Ron hadn't exactly… calmed down yet. 

No, there was no way around it. He had to go back to Gryffindor Tower and face Hermione and Harry. He'd have to blush, yawn, mumble about how incredibly tired he was, and attempt to go to bed. He pushed himself off the lawn and with a last look for Malfoy, began to walk towards the castle. 

Ron grumbled to himself as he walked the large staircase, he moaned as he whispered, "pig snout," to the painting of the Fat Lady, he sighed as he ascended the cold stairs to the tower, and gave a last tortured grumble as he pulled off his shoes and settled into his four poster. Wait a minute. He hadn't run into anybody. He was safe at last. What fabulous- 

"Ron?" Shit. Apparently Harry wasn't asleep. 

"Ya?" Ron asked warily. 

"Where'd you go?" 

"Just a walk," Ron replied quickly. "Go to bed." 

"But, er… are you okay? I mean, do you wanna talk?" Harry said. 

"No. I just want to go to bed. Goodnight." 

"Night," Harry replied sound genuinely disappointed 

***

Ron woke late the next morning and found that Harry, Neville, Dean and Seamus had left without even waking him. Ron threw on his clothes, ran his fingers through his hair and ran down the halls to Potions. Of course it had to be today, of all days. And of course he had to see Draco there first thing. He'd have to avoid the boy at all costs. 

Ron took a deep breath and turned the knob. 

"Glad you could join us, Weasley," Snape said. "Twenty points from Gryffindor. Now sit, Mister Weasley." Ron glanced to his normal seat, but found Hermione had already taken his place. _Apparently if you snooze, you really do lose,_ Ron thought. Oh well. He'd have to find another seat, probably next to Neville again. Only that seat was taken too. In fact every seat was taken. Except for- 

"Care to join me?" Malfoy glanced up and asked Ron. He had a horrible smirk on his face, and Ron could feel the anger rising to the tips of his ears Of all the horrible luck, the only available seat _had_ to be next to Draco Malfoy. Ron stared for a moment at the stool next to Malfoy. He'd probably cursed it before he had arrived, and once Ron sat down, huge spiders would come crawling from it. Ron gave a shudder and decided he was just going to have to suck it up and sit down. Ron wondered where Crabbe and Goyle were, but thought more about his own pain and suffering as he ever so slowly sat down. He was okay, so far. But just to be safe, Ron scooted the stool far away from Malfoy. 

"Weasley," Malfoy whispered from the side of his mouth. Ron didn't respond for a multitude of reasons. Specifically Snape. The man could hear like Professor Moody could see. "I'm talking to you, Weasel," Draco whispered again as he scooted his own stool closer to Ron's. 

"Go away, ferret face," Ron whispered back, attempting to look incessantly interested in whatever Snape was saying. Malfoy scooted closer in response. The two boys were so close now that their knees were banging under the table. Ron swallowed. Why was this turning him on? 

"You know," Malfoy whispered from the corner of his mouth, "we really didn't get to finish what we started last night." 

Ron swallowed again. Was it hot in here? It felt hot. Ron needed water, or a bucket of ice. He could _not _get seduced by Malfoy in the middle of Potions. Ron looked over to the blond, who seemed to be absolutely riveted by whatever Snape was lecturing on. Ron could swear he saw a smirk creeping onto those perfect pink lips, but he wouldn't let that affect him. He attempted to scoot his stool further but realized, as he bashed his thigh against the desk's wooden frame, that he was cornered. 

Malfoy's thigh was pressed firmly against his own, sending chills up his spine as Malfoy jiggled his leg. Slowly the Slytherin's leg bobbed, up and down, making Ron squirm from the foreign and intentionally slow contact. Ron could no longer hear Snape's monotone voice; in fact the only sounds reverberating through his skull were the sweep of clothed thighs brushing together, and his own increasingly loud heartbeat. He tried in vain to look unmoved by the situation. He even tried to think of disturbing images: Neville dancing naked on a table, singing "I'm a Little Tea Pot." But suddenly that image was shoved violently from his mind. 

Malfoy's hand was steadily resting on his thigh. 

Ron gasped audibly at the warm hand, whose thumb was now gently rubbing his inner thigh. Apparently Snape had heard Ron's sharp intake of breath, because he was now blatantly glaring at Ron. Draco drew his hand quickly back as Snape approached their desk, and Ron tried to catch his breath. 

"Weasley," Snape snapped. "Would you care to tell me what a Peledopholice is?" 

_Shit. _He looked around to Harry's desk, but apparently he hadn't been paying attention to Snape's fascinating lecture either. 

"Well," Ron began uneasily, his face still flushed. "A uhm, paladocolick-" 

"Peleopholice, Weasley." 

"Right. It's a type of head lice, that-er, is white, and it uh," Ron stammered. Snape looked like smoke was going to come shooting out of his ears. His black eyes were glittering with malice. Something had to be done. 

Apparently Malfoy agreed, because before Ron could repair the situation the Slytherin shoved his hand under the table, in Ron's lap, and grabbed in between his legs. Ron gasped, his eyes grew wide and he shot out of his stool. Malfoy turned to the terrified, and excessively turned-on redhead, smirking as Ron panicked and attempted to place his Potions book in front of himself. 

The entire class was staring at him as he held a book over his hard-on. This could not have been anymore embarrassing. 

"I don't feel well," he choked as he ran straight out the door. His face was burning, and the tips of his ears felt like they had been lit them on fire. It was safe to say that Ron was mortified, he felt as though he was going to be violently ill. He'd never experienced that much embarrassment in one class, and he wasn't looking foreword to a repeat performance. It was high time for Ron to take a day off. 

Ron's arms and legs flailed helplessly as he ran down the empty corridors. He had to get away from all of this. In the distance he thought he heard someone calling his name, but decided to ignore it. It had to be Harry, but Ron really didn't feel like talking right now, so he picked up the pace. 

"Weasley!" Ron needed to run faster. But he was feeling winded. That whole Malfoy thing had already left him with a lack of breath, and running at full speed didn't exactly help the situation. And come to think of it, Harry wouldn't call Ron "Weasley." As a matter of fact, that voice sounded distinctly like Malfoy's. 

"Wait up, Weasel," he called, sounding nearly as out of breath as Ron. Sadly, there was no possible way Ron could run any faster. And besides, running away from a Malfoy was disgraceful. He came to a halt, and slowly turned around. There, making Ron want to burst into mad fits of laughter, was an obviously conflicted Malfoy in a half run, half walk, pink in the face, motioning for Ron to wait. Ron wondered whether he just run out of the classroom to taunt him, or had Snape sent him? 

"What?" Ron asked breathlessly, and rather nervously (after all, the smaller boy _had _just grabbed Ron's package.) 

"You forgot something," Malfoy replied bluntly. Ron quirked an eyebrow. He hadn't forgotten anything. 

"Wha-" Malfoy sprang upon him with full force as his pink lips collided against Ron's already-open mouth. Ron could think of nothing better to do than drop the potions book he was still using to cover himself, only to find Malfoy equally excited as he pushed hard against Ron. 

Malfoy grabbed Ron's hair forcefully and shoved his leg in between Ron's. Ron moaned into Malfoy's mouth, and moved his own hands into the blonde's sleek, smooth hair, pulling so hard that strands of it were coming out into his hands. Malfoy moaned louder. 

"Wait," Malfoy said trying to catch his breath. "Come to my dorm." Ron was conflicted for about half a second before giving in. "Okay." 

The two walked in an uncomfortable silence towards Draco's dorm. It wasn't too far from the Potions class, but gave Ron more than enough opportunity to contemplate what he was doing. 

* * * 

**This chapter is not over!**

The NC-17 portions of this story are essential to understanding what's going on. If you would like to read it please follow the link that's on my author's page. Sorry for all the trouble, but that's the only way to get at it! And, seriously, you have to read it if you want to read the story at all. You can also just read this story at Restricted Section under "Pandora's Aquarium". It's up to you! 

A/N: Thank you to every kind person who left a review. I really appreciate your comments, even if I do take months to update. I want to thank especially: Maud (who practically held my hand through this chapter), Black Dove (for all your wonderful, long e-mails), Annchen (for the panty check), Sophie (who should get her lovely ass working on The Trouble With Harry, don't worry, I prayed for you!), Chaser (what a fine girl…), and to Tazy for bothering me and Maud about finishing this evil chapter (Everyone go now to read the new chapter of "I'm Not in Denial") I also have to say thank you to Jamie O'Neill (author of the novel, "At Swim, Two Boys") who will hopefully never read this. 


	6. Chapter Six

**Rating: **R   
**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter and Co. I simply toy with their minds   
**Warnings:** This is slash, feel free to skip this story if you're not into that.   
**A/N:** See end of chapter for Dee's normal blabbing.   
**Dedications:** To my chicks. My wife, my girlfriend, and the mother of my children, you know who you are. I love you guys! 

*** Ron *** 

Ron lay beside Draco watching the black eagle owl tap at the window. Ron thought that someone should have really let that bird in. It was like a contest. Who would get annoyed first? "Go open the window," Ron said quietly, nudging Draco in the ribs. But the boy just lay dumbly staring at the creature. Ron grumbled, wrapped a sheet around his waist, and walked to the window. The owl flew proudly in, dropped a letter in Ron's hands, and swooped quickly back out the window. "That was strange," Ron said attempting to hand the letter to Draco. 

"That's not for me," Draco said quietly. "What do you mean it's not for you? Here, it has your name on it," Ron said flipping the envelope over in his hands. There in a neat, and controlled script was written "Ron Weasley, Gryffindor Tower, Fifth Year Dorms." As though it were poison Ron flung the offending letter to the ground. There had to be some mistake. That couldn't _really_ have been Draco's father's owl. Ron glanced over at Draco, who just looked back and shook his head. 

"What the fuck is this?" Ron asked. 

"I don't know," Draco replied defensively. "Maybe it's a death threat or something. I don't know what he's up to at all times, you know." 

"Sorry I thought you had Death Eater ESP or something." Ron looked to his feet where the letter still sat. He thought about bringing it to Dumbledore to get it checked for curses, but before he could pick it up Draco had slipped on his boxers, and crawled out of bed. The shirtless blonde bent to pick it up. 

"Here, I'll open it. I'm sure it's nothing." Draco opened the letter quickly, and pulled out the piece of parchment. He sat on the corner of Ron's bed, and began to read. The boy's face suddenly paled, and his hands began to shake. He quietly finished the letter, and folded it neatly into a square. "Well, I better be going then. I've got a lot of homework. See ya," Draco said as he began picking up his clothes from the floor, and shoving the letter into an inner pocket of his robes. 

"Wait! What did it say?" 

"Nothing. You know. He was asking for a donation or something. You know my father, quite the sense of humor." Draco hastily jammed his robes on, as Ron stood dumbstruck in his a white sheet. What the hell was going on here? 

"Give me the letter, Malfoy. It was addressed to me." It was something in Draco's eyes. There was a flicker of panic, and Ron knew he was going to run for it. There was no time for modesty, he let the sheet fall to the ground, and took a step toward Draco. The blonde bolted. He began running toward the door, but Ron was faster. As Draco's hand approached the doorknob, Ron flew forward and tackled the other boy to the ground. 

"Give it to me!" Ron yelled as he stuck his hand into Draco's robes. He knew there was a pocket in there somewhere. Ron pinned Draco to the ground, pushing the side of his head into floor with one hand, and with the other reaching into his robes to locate the satin lining of a pocket. 

Almost brutality Draco used his last bit of strength to throw Ron off. Ron, in shock from Draco's sudden outburst, sat dumbly on the floor staring at Draco. The blonde quickly got up, looked back at Ron then dashed out the door. Ron had never seen the boy run so fast in his life; it would have been amusing if it hadn't been so damn annoying. Ron sat for a few minutes by the door, too shocked to move. _Stupid slimy git,_ Ron thought. What the hell had been in that letter? It was his letter, damn it. Malfoy had no right to just take it like that. It couldn't have been _that_ horrible, could it have? But, knowing the Malfoys it probably was. 

Quite shockingly the door came swinging brutally open, and bashed Ron in the face. "Shit!" He yelled grabbing his head in frustration. 

"Ron?" came Harry's concerned voice from outside the door. 

"Oh, uh, hang on Harry, I uh, just got out of the shower. Hang on!" Ron said jumping around the room trying to pick up his clothes and dump water from the pitcher over his head. He tossed on a pair of trousers and a t-shirt, and told Harry to come in. 

"Sorry about that," Harry said, grimacing at Ron's red nose. 

"Oh, that's okay. I was just, uhm, I'd dropped something by the door." Harry nodded in response. "So," Ron said, trying to lessen the discomfort that seemed to be permeating the room. He hadn't really spoken to Harry in a few days; there'd been nothing to say. And he was scared that he wouldn't be able to keep back the Draco secret. 

"So, Ron?" Harry asked nervously, looking down at his shoes. 

"Ya, Harry?" Secretly Ron wanted Harry to say something like, _what's going on? You can tell me anything. We're friends, I love you. You're important to me. _

"What's going on? I have barely seen you in the last week. Are you avoiding me?" 

Ron shuffled his feet. It was so frustrating that he couldn't tell his best friend what was happening in his life. And maybe it wasn't really Harry who was avoiding him; maybe it was just too much to say, "Harry, I'm fucking Malfoy. Sorry I've been avoiding you." Harry had enough on his mind without worrying about who was sharing his bed. 

"Nah," Ron replied. "I'm not avoiding you, Harry. I've just been busy is all. You know all of those horrible assignments from Snape." 

"Oh," Harry replied doubtfully. "Well, we won the game in case you were wondering. Beat Ravenclaw 197 - 10, I don't think Cho will speak to me for a week." Ron laughed and suddenly realized just how much he'd missed his friends. Whatever was in that letter wasn't important now. He needed to go fix things with Hermione, to fix things with Harry. "Do you wanna go to the Common Room? They're having a party. The house elves just came up, didn't even wait for Fred and George to ask for food!" Ron laughed again, grabbed his cloak and ran down the stairs with Harry. 

*~*~ Draco ~*~* 

"Crabbe, Goyle?" Draco called into his seemingly empty dorm. He hadn't seen much of the boys since the initiation. He only saw them briefly in classes where they sat in the back, and didn't speak to anyone. After classes they'd suddenly disappear, and Draco wouldn't see them again until they came back to the dorms late at night to sleep. But Draco didn't really care. They were nearly always doing something stupid. Like, last year, when they had told him that Potter was really a woman. They'd spent months trying to get a glimpse of his package. That probably had a more significant meaning than Draco cared to think about. 

Blaise wasn't back yet either, he must have still been down at the Quidditch game, or at dinner. Eating was the last thing Draco wanted to do, however. He was still feeling shaky, and thinking about his father's letter wasn't helping the situation. 

He crashed face first into his bed, and inhaled deeply from a pillow that still seemed to smell like Weasley. (They'd spent the previous afternoon in Draco's bed.) He had options, per say: he could show Weasley the letter and let him deal with it, or he could confront Lucius about it. The other option was to abandon all thoughts of wizards and wizarding and illegally Apparate to Acapulco. There he could form a new life as a cabaña boy, and use some barbaric Muggle apparatus to remove the Dark Mark from his forearm. That probably wouldn't work though. He had conveniently forgotten how much he hated Muggles. 

Draco put his cold hands on top of his Dark Mark, feeling the tender area. It really had never fully healed, and still felt sensitive at the lightest touch. Every time Ron touched it he could feel the Mark doing something to him. It was so wrong, no one should have ever known about the Mark, yet here was Weasley licking, sucking and biting at it. Yet, Draco let him do it, he loved it. Why was Weasley even sticking around with him? Why had he ever wanted to sleep with him in the first place? It was such a mistake. If they'd never gotten together, if Ron had never kissed him, none of this would have happened. But, at the same time, he liked having the redhead around. He liked to smell his beautiful hair, he liked to feel his calloused skin glide across his chest, he liked kissing his fingertips, and licking the shell of his ear. 

He shuddered. It seemed a lifetime had passed since he'd received the Mark. It seemed like so much had changed, at yet nothing really had. And now this letter, it had ruined everything, and he just didn't know what to do about it. 

The sun had set, and Draco's room was cold, dark and empty. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, slowly letting everything float out of his mind. He absently grabbed for the Ron scented pillow and held it close to his chest, as he drifted into sleep. 

*** 

Legs tangle around his waist; long slender hands dance up his chest and back down again, fingers lost in a sea of light brown hairs. The other boy smiles fetchingly up at him, while his hands deftly move around his length, up and down, up and down, lips meet in a clash and he's not even sure which tongue is his own. The ministrations get harder, rougher, and it's funny because Ron's never been cruel like this before. Something is off, something is wrong. 

Quickly Draco releases his mouth from the other, and stares at the horribly altered face of Ron Weasley. Where once a mess of bright red hair shone, now a sleek bald head appeared, where once huge blue eyes peered from under light eyelashes, now glow the empty red eyes of someone, something else. He pushes even further away from the thing but finds that the creature's legs are inside of him, a part of his own flesh, his back, his stomach. The creature entangled with him smiles cruelly up at Draco, an abyss of blackness lying behind wind chime teeth. 

*** 

Draco woke with a violent start. He felt sweat dripping down his face and into his eyes, his hair mussed and damp. Crabbe and Goyle still hadn't come back, but Blaise was snoring lightly in the bed across from his. If he was just quiet enough he could probably sneak to Gryffindor Tower. Draco, as quietly as he possibly could, dropped off his bed and slipped into his shoes. He threw a robe over his green-stripped pajamas and attempted to slip out the door. 

"Where are you going, Malfoy?" Zabini asked, in a low and almost threatening voice. When the hell had he woken up? And where did he get the nerve to be almost threatening? 

"None of your business, Zabini. I suggest you shut you eyes, unless of course you'd like me to shut them for you." Normally that type of comment resulted in Zabini, being the pussy he was, laying his head back down and going back to sleep. Instead Zabini flung himself out of bed, and launched at Draco. 

"Don't have the goons to back you up now," he said. Draco slit his eyes in response. He glared up at the slightly taller boy. 

"What are you going do Blaise?" Draco asked cruelly. "Are you going to beat me up? Hmm? Do you think any of our fathers would appreciate that?" Zabini just smirked in response. 

"I wouldn't dream it." He made to turn around, but then, as if giving it a second thought asked, "And where are you off to at this late hour Mr. Malfoy? Think any of our fathers would appreciate me telling them you were off to at this hour? Perhaps meeting someone you shouldn't be? I've heard a lot of rumors you know. I'd be a bit more careful if I were you." 

Draco growled. What the fuck did he know about anything? Where did he get off threatening and accusing? And then, like a ton of bricks, it hit him. "You've been spying on me, haven't you?" Draco grabbed his wand from inside his pocket and pointed it squarely at Blaise's chest. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought that perhaps this wasn't the best method for dealing with his problems, but right now he felt like: curse first, ask questions later. _"vomicus fungi!"_ he said, his voice resonating with power. Blaise flew back, smacking his head against the wall, and then lay seemingly motionless near the baseboards. 

Draco hadn't really planned on that. He took one look at the unconscious boy and panicked. He fled the room, no longer thinking about how much noise he was making, or who he was going to wake up. This all needed to end. He needed to show Ron the letter, and to let him decide for himself what he was going to do. 

*~*~ Ron ~*~* 

Ron sat next to Hermione, drinking an economy sized pumpkin juice, with his feet propped up on one of the tables. The party was beginning to dwindle down, and most everyone had gone to bed. He, Harry, Hermione, and a few sixth years were the only people remaining in the common room, and even now the sixth years were preparing to go to bed. 

"Then Lark shouted to Cho that the snitch was behind her, and it was a bludger! It smacked her right in the face. You should've seen it, Ron. I think Colin got a bunch of photographs of it. Maybe he'll use a Muggle technique, and you could make it into a flip book," Harry said, his eyes glinting with Joy. Ron had definitely missed that look. 

"A flip book? What's that?" 

"Never mind," Hermione said, covering Harry's mouth with her hand. "It was a wonderful game, Ron, you really did miss it. Where were you, anyway?" 

"Oh." The way Ron looked at it, he had three options. One involved running screaming out of the hall, another involved him telling the truth, and the other, much more obvious choice, to lie. "I was studying." He was never good at this lying bit. 

"Studying?" Hermione asked. "Well, that's a welcome change, Ron! You're finally looking out for your future. And not a moment too soon, what with OWLs coming up." 

"Yeah," Ron replied, feeling somewhat guilty. 

"What were you studying?" Harry asked, trying to sound casual. 

"Uhm, I was studying the uhm, lifespan of a niffler. They don't live long, you know." 

"Oh, really! That's wonderful, Ron. They really don't live long. What is it? Three years?" 

"Yep, three years. That's why they're such an expensive pet. I mean, ya know, if you want another, you have to go and keep buying them. Doesn't pay off in the long run." Now he knew why he never lied. It was impossible. He was hideous at it. He could never just leave it at a simple thing; he had to keep going with it. 

"Hmm…" Hermione said, sounding somewhat suspicious. Ron wondered if she knew what was really going on, and if she did how she felt about it. Hermione and he had always had something there. Something just below the surface, and when she'd finally told him how she felt it all seemed very strange. It was like, a relief. Like she'd just ripped off a plaster, and Ron could finally scratch the scar. And yet, it was all wrong. It's wasn't the right time at all. And it just made every other feeling floating around in Ron's head more confused, more difficult, more annoying. 

She was so much better than Malfoy. She actually respected Ron, made him feel like a person. He should have been with her, but now the ferret had come and ruined it all. Even if Ron had been the one to start it, it was Draco's fault. It was always Draco's fault. 

"Well, I'm off to bed then," Hermione said, producing a fake yawn. She probably just didn't want to be around Ron. He hadn't even spoken to her about that night. 

"Night, Hermione," Harry and Ron said together. She walked out of the common room and up the staircase, Crookshanks, who had been comfortably sitting underneath the couch, followed her up the stairs. 

"I guess I'm gonna go too," Harry said, smiling good-naturedly at Ron. Again Ron had the feeling of wanting to reach out to Harry, to tell him how sorry he was. 

"Are we, you know, okay?" Ron finally asked. He felt stupid for asking that, and immediately regretted it. That was just the kind of dumb question that got both parties feeling uncomfortable. Harry himself was already turning pink, and absently playing with the position of his specs. 

"Ya, we're okay," Harry replied, conveniently looking down at a piece of muck that seemed to be stuck to his shoe. 

"Right, well, goodnight. I'm just gonna stay here and finish my pumpkin juice." Harry nodded his head, said goodnight, and headed up the stairs. 

Ron plopped onto the soft red couch seated right before the huge fireplace in their common room. He watched the fire a few moments, becoming hypnotized by the flickering light, and lulled by the warmth of it. He closed his eyes, and felt the heat soft on his eyelids. What would life be like without Harry and Hermione? What would life be like without Malfoy? 

Before he would have said that a life without Malfoy would have been a good life, indeed. But now it felt different. He told himself it was just the sex, although he hated thinking that word. It made him blush. And that's all they ever really did. It was sex and then one of them flew out the door, claiming something stupid like, "Uhm… I have a Arithmancy test!" When Ron didn't even take Arithmancy. But their nights together were fun. If they were out late enough, they'd pop down to the kitchens to get something to eat from the all too helpful House Elves. Sometimes Malfoy would give one of them a good hard kick, and even though Ron knew it was wrong, he'd laugh as it went flying through the air. "Sorry, sir," it would say. "Tinky," or what ever it's name was, "must have tripped over your shoe sir. Let Tinky clean it sir!" Then it would run over with a rag and polish Draco's shoe. But Ron knew it was his duty, as a SPEW member, to smack Draco in the back of the head when he did these things. He hated being degraded in front of House Elves, so Ron liked to do it as much as possible. 

Ron's mind began to wander to the letter from Lucius. What was in it? Why had Draco practically flown out of the room once he'd read it? Ron didn't like to admit it, but he was scared. Was everything with Malfoy some sort of evil master plan? Get to the Harry through his best friend? It didn't feel that way, but something was definitely wrong. 

"Open the hell up!" Ron jumped from his trance, and quickly got to his feet. He looked left, then right, then left again, but no one was there. "I said open woman. This is important." Ron could hear Malfoy's irate, and muffled voice coming from just outside the portrait hole. He laughed, and then got up to let him in. He would have tortured the boy a bit, but he didn't want to get in trouble either. 

Ron pushed the portrait open, and Malfoy practically spilled in, tripping over the bricks in the process. He looked wild, his blond hair was pushed all around his head, and is his eyes were wide. 

"Are you okay?" Ron asked. 

"Of course I'm okay!" Draco snapped. "I just can't take this anymore!" Ron had never known Malfoy to get so out of control. And what, exactly couldn't he take? "Here." Malfoy thrust an envelope into his hand, and sat down on the fire near the couch. "You'll want to sit down for that," Malfoy said from the couch. Ron was still staring at the writing on the envelope, wondering if he'd rather just toss the offending letter into the fireplace. Malfoy wasn't making things any easier by freaking out. "Open it!" The blond said, rocking himself back and forth. 

"Okay…" Ron said pulling the letter out, and slowly unfolding it. Ron looked down at the controlled writing and read. 

_Mr. Weasley, _

_Certain circumstances concerning yourself and my son have recently come to my attention. You currently have only one choice: join the Death Eaters, or I will kill your family. _

_Sincerely,   
Lucius D. Malfoy_

*** 

A/N: This took an ungodly amount of time to put out, I'm a terrible, no good, very bad person. Sorry! I really appreciate everyone's all too nice reviews, though. I mean, its just dope that you guys actually go out of your way to read this! I appreciate it oh so much. 

Well, you're all going to have to wait just as long, if not longer, for the next chapter. I'm going to be doing a semester abroad, and I won't be back until mid may (wish me luck!). I'll try and work on it while I'm gone though, so, maybe it will even be done before book five comes out! (Probably not though.) I'll still be around to get e-mails and reviews though, so don't stop doing that!! Thanks again! I love you guys! 


	7. Chapter Seven

**Rating:** R – For NC-17 link (which is _vital_ to the story) please see my author's page! 

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter and Co. I simply toy with their minds 

**Warnings:** This is slash, feel free to skip this story if you're not into that. 

**A/N: **Are you wondering where all the reviews went? I had a slight ff.net mishap, and they were deleted. This, however, _is_ a new chapter, and I apologize profusely for having to re-post. Also, because I'm not able to individually thank those of you who reviewed chapter six. Know that I appreciated it! And keep 'em coming! 

**Dedications: **This chapter is dedicated, as always to Maud for her fab beta-ing. Love you dear. Also to Sophie for visiting me in Spain, and getting rained on for five days, you're so amazing. Tas gets extra special dedications for letting us stay in her flat and supplying us with porn and cock, also for making me finish this chapter. 

**Is This Desire?**

**Chapter Seven   
_or The Sad Little Pillow_**

"Weasley? Weasley? Potter? Where's Weasley?" 

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "He wasn't feeling well, Professor." McGonagall eyed him warily. "He, he's in our dorm, I think." 

"Harry!" Hermione hissed from the corner of her mouth. "You didn't tell me he was sick!" 

"Quiet now, Ms. Granger," McGonagall said, setting down the roll sheet, and starting a diagram on the blackboard. 

"I'll tell you later Hermione," Harry whispered back. 

*~*~* Ron *~*~* 

"Unnnnhhhh," Ron groaned loudly into his pillow, his breath flowing into the soft downy material and surrounding his face in warm, moist air. He'd been like this all night, barely feeling anything, and concentrating only on the steady pace of his heart beat. He wanted everything, and everyone, to go away, especially that feeling of hopelessness. Because no matter which way he looked at it, he was fucked. 

"God damn it! Why, Malfoy, why did you do this to me!?" he slammed his fist into the now severely punished pillow (he'd spent a good chunk of the night punching, biting, and ripping severely at the little pieces of fluffy white feather that were sticking from it). The dejected sack of material conformed to Ron's fist, making the redhead even more furious. He imagined Lucius Malfoy's pointy face, and ferocious, hungry eyes glaring at him, his thin mouth laughing that snotty, well-to-do-I'm-oh-so-superior-because-I-have-girly-blond-hair cackle. And Ron wanted to do nothing but chuck the pillow out the window, but he knew he'd get no satisfying crunch as it hit the ground so far below. He punched the sack of loose fluff once more before breathing, and wiping the spot of drool from his chin. 

"Fuck you!" He bellowed, his voice quivering with anger. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! I hate you, I hope you bloody well die, you, your stupid son, and your stupid family!" He threw the pillow out the parting in his four poster, and laid back, silently fuming on his now pillow-less bed. "Good," he said out loud. "I like it better that way. No stupid Malfoy pillow polluting it." But truthfully everything about his bed reminded him of Malfoy, from the way his blankets smelled, to the drop of blood that still stained the mattress from, he gulped when he thought about it, that over amorous night last week. Draco hadn't noticed the blood, thank goodness; he would have passed out instantly. 

But now everything had changed. Now everything was different, and it was taking all of Ron's will not to think about it. Not to think about what Lucius Malfoy could actually do to his family, his friends, maybe even to that little prick Draco. If it weren't for him, none of this would have happened. He would probably be happily dating Hermione, and wondering whether or not Harry was like him, whatever _he_ was. He would probably be a million times happier, and mostly he wouldn't have to decide whether or not he was going to have to join_ the Death Eaters._ The organization his own father had spent the better part of his career trying to obliterate, the organization whose sole purpose was to murder his best friend. 

He shook his head slowly, and let out a puff of air. He couldn't think about this now, he just couldn't. He had to compose himself; yes, he'd just get out of bed, maybe kick the Malfoy Pillow, and get ready for classes. He could still make it to, "Damn it!"… Potions. Well, he could probably still go to lunch, although then he'd have to stare at Draco from across the dinning hall. His stupid silver hair concealing his witless, soft grey eyes as he shoved mouthfuls of sweets in his dreadfully hot mouth. His wretched lips moving up and down and his velvety pink tongue darting out to taste his lips. That same velvety tongue that had once licked Ron's throat, that had tasted his mouth as their hips rocked involuntarily against each other. 

He mentally shook himself, and took a long deep breath. It was so typical of him to think about something like, like –_that_ when there was a much more pressing matter at hand. He had to choose. He had to choose today what was going to shape the rest of his life, and he wondered what the hell a boy, a little kid, of sixteen years old was supposed to do, or what was even right. Malfoy had gone willingly into becoming a Death Eater, and deep down, something about that interested Ron, the idea that you were a part of this entirely dark thing, this all consuming shadow. 

But, he wasn't that! He couldn't do… that. Could he? He berated himself for thinking these things, he was Ronald Weasley. He was the boy whose best friend was Harry Potter. He was the last boy from a family willing to fight against You-Know-Who, even if that_ did_ mean loosing their lives… and yet, Ron was left with this choice. He knew how to spare the lives of his family, but that involved aiding of killing his best friend. 

Killing. Kill. Dead. Death. Deceased. Late. Departed. Gone. 

Was there really any other decision? Deep down, he knew what was right. 

Ron sat up, and grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill from his side dresser drawer. 

_Dear Lucius Malfoy,_ he wrote in his untidy scrawl.

* ~*~ * Draco *~ *~ * 

"Unnnnhhhh," Draco groaned loud into his pillow. What day was it, what time was it, what fucking year was it? Didn't he need a lot more sleep then the pathetic two hours he'd just gotten? It was all Weasley's fault, with his overreacting, and yelling, and punching. Draco gingerly felt his once beautiful face; swollen. The moment he'd started screaming Draco knew all of bloody stick-your-noble-nose-in-other-people's-business Gryffindor House would rush down to the common room to save the bloody day. Well, it didn't need saving. Ron would have to join the Death Eaters, and there was nothing the freckled little Weasel could do about it. Ron was just like him now, stuck. Maybe no one got a choice to be in the Death Eaters, or maybe Weasley and he were just the two luckiest people in the Wizarding World. 

He rolled over on to his side to examine the other beds in the room. It was disturbingly quiet in there, and Draco had grown accustomed to Crabbe and Goyle's piercingly loud snores. Crabbe had this horrible habit of letting breath out in a sort of whistle. And, there they weren't. No Vincent Crabbe, no Gregory Goyle. Just two empty, made-up beds. It was too early for them to be gone because from the window Draco could see the first light of morning, and in the corner of the room Blaise Zabini was quietly dozing with his pet snake curled around his head. Draco hoped, bitterly, it would wind itself a bit tighter and strangle him to death, pop off that stupid, brainless head of his. It felt really wrong to be here in this bed; he wanted to be with Ron. He wanted to touch Ron, to feel the boy's pulse through his fingertips, trying to get his own heart beat to match pace, but for some reason Draco's always seemed faster. 

Everything was so wrong now. He'd seen Crabbe and Goyle in classes, but whenever he asked them where they went at night, all he got was grunts, and confused, glassy-eyed looks. It was starting to get frustrating, especially with everything going so wrong lately; he felt like he could use a good pick me up, the kind that only Crabbe could provide when he was kicking Colin Creevy in the stomach because he wouldn't eat the handful dirt Goyle was force feeding him. 

Draco smirked into his pillow. Fine, today he would get up, and it would be a new day. It would be a day Weasley-free, because, truthfully he had no idea what to say to Ron now. His own father had just ruined the boy's life. No, not ruined, changed. That's all it was. So what, the kid had some stupid ideals about how his life was going to be, now it was over. The red-head was going to be a Death Eater. He was going to stand next to Draco, Crabbe and Goyle in that ring of masked wizards, and he was going to suck it up, and deal with it. 

Maybe it would have been different if Draco hadn't met him the night after he'd been initiated. Maybe Weasley would have just forgotten about his stupid crush on him. He'd realize that a Malfoy wasn't someone a Weasley could ever get a hold of; no Malfoy would sink so low. It had probably just been in that moment of darkness that Draco had wanted him anyway. Yes, now Draco was being kind to the poor little Weasel, he didn't really like him—it was just pure kindness on Draco's behalf. He should get an award, or something. At least a present from his father for getting Weasley to join up. 

Draco looked down at the crook of his arm; there it was, the skull glowing slightly red like normal and the slight teeth marks from were Ron had bitten at it the day before. The mark was familiar to him now, it didn't even look strange when he glanced down at his arm, it was like it had always been there. The mark had been tattooed on his arm since birth, but it had only now physically manifested itself. He touched the raised flesh gently with his lips, feeling it smooth against the dry skin. He imagined Ron's lips against it, warm and moist, he imagined Ron's tongue licking slowly up at as he watched Draco from underneath a curtain of red hair. 

Draco swallowed, and closed his eyes. He'd try to go back to sleep. 

* * * 

Once the alarm had gone off in the morning Draco briefly thought about skipping class, what was the point now? Everything was so completely wrong; going to class would only make things worse. But he remembered he had Potions that day, and would be sorely missed by Potter, who needed his daily mocking, and Weasley's presence would be merely a pleasant two-for-one bonus. But, when he'd gone into class, there was no Weasel. Just Potter and Granger, and suddenly Draco didn't really feel like making fun of the bespectacled wizard. 

"Draco," Crabbe whispered into his ear, once Draco turned his eyes to listen to Snape's lecture on spider venom's oh-so-numerous uses. 

"What?" Draco responded blankly back. 

"We're done!" Crabbe whispered happily into his ear. 

"Done with what?" Draco whispered back impatiently. 

"We're done spying on you!" 

The color flooded from Draco's face, and he could swear his heart had stopped beating for a moment. "What do you mean?" He was trying hard to remain calm, but he could feel the sweat beginning in his hairline. He hated sweating. 

"Your dad said we we're done!" Goyle whispered on the other side of him. Draco turned wildly around to look him in the face. His wide eyes completely betraying him now as his jaw hung open in pure shock. 

"My fa-father?" He said, hardly registering this. 

"Malfoy!" Snape snapped. 

"What?!" Draco yelled, his eyebrows furrowing. 

"You are not to yell at me, Mr. Malfoy," Snape replied, a deadly growl growing in his voice. 

"Sorry, Professor, I had something in my throat." Draco swallowed, he felt sick. Ill. He wanted to throw up, or faint, or hex someone. 

"See that it doesn't happen again, Mr. Malfoy." Snape brought himself to his full height, and wrapped his cloak a bit higher around his neck. 

Draco licked his dry lips and nodded. His father had, what? What? _What?_ He'd sent Crabbe and Goyle to spy on him. He'd sent Draco's only friends to spy on his every move. Why? Why? Crabbe and Goyle were his friends! Not his father's. It was the one thing he owned, right? And now, now everything was fucked up! Now everything was wrong because of his father. Because of the Death Eaters, why had he ever joined? Couldn't he have said no? Draco tried to take a steady breath, but could hear it broken as he exhaled. 

The whole room felt excruciatingly hot, and uncomfortable, he could feel his pale face getting clammy, and he was sure he was getting whiter than normal. He put his hands on top of the black table in front of him, and let them slip back into his lap, two sweaty hand prints in their absence. "Sir," he said standing up slowly. 

"What is it now, Malfoy?" The greasy haired professor snapped. 

"I'm not feeling too well, may I be excused?" 

He considered Draco a moment before giving a seemingly irritated wave of his hand which Draco assumed meant he could leave. 

*~ *~ * Ron *~ * ~* 

"We're fucked!" 

Ron shoved his owl out the window, and whipped around to see Malfoy standing pale, sweaty and out of breath before him. 

"What are _you_ talking about? How'd you even get in here? Leave!" Ron pointed at the door, glaring at the Slytherin. 

"We're fucked! We're so fucked!" It really wasn't like Malfoy to get this worked up, but Ron didn't really care. 

"You're not fucked, I am. So stop being a little girl and get the hell out of my room." 

"They were spying on us!" Malfoy panted, shutting the door behind him as he walked closer to Ron. 

"Who? What the hell are you talking about, Malfoy?" Didn't the evil bastard have somewhere better to be? Say rotting in hell with his Death Eater daddy. 

"Crabbe and Goyle." 

"That doesn't surprise me," Ron replied crossing his arms over his chest. "It sounds like something so-called friends of yours would do." 

Draco seemed to consider him for a moment. "You're clueless, Weasley." 

"Good then, now get out." 

"No," Malfoy replied, now gaining back whatever little color he had, and re-positioning his hair. "I don't have to." 

Ron glared. "You do, Malfoy. Do not make me eject you myself." 

"Oh, you think you're good at ejecting me, huh? Like to _eject_ me, do you? Get you off, Weasel?" Draco licked his lips obscenely. 

"Don't make me ill." 

"I think you've got it backwards! It's you that makes me ill!" Draco replied, his face going into that hideous sneer. 

"If I make you so ill, then leave!" He was getting sick of this now. "I don't care about your brain dead friends, or your bastard father, and I certainly don't care about you! Why don't you use all your dirty money to go by a clue?" 

Ron turned around and faced the wall. He would not punch him, he would not. It was wrong to punch stupid blond boys who had just been double crossed by their friends. It was wrong, wrong, wrong. Oh, what the hell, he had a right to pissed off, hadn't he? 

Ron turned around fast, expecting Draco to still be feet away but found that the boy was now right behind him, suddenly throwing his arms around Ron, and knocking him back onto the ground. He landed with a hard thud, his head hitting the cold floor as Draco landed on top of him. 

"Say it," Draco whispered inches away from his face. 

"What?" Ron whispered back. 

"Say you don't hate me." 

Ron turned his head away from Draco, the boy's warm breath now hitting the sensitive skin of his neck. He could hear Draco's heartbeat, no, he could feel it, fast and strong against him, and he wondered if he really did hate him. Hate was such a strong word. 

"I don't hate you." He said, looking back into the Slytherin's grey eyes, and so suddenly Draco's lips were upon his, soft, slow and simple. 

"Ron," Draco whispered as their lips parted briefly. 

"What?" 

"You can't do it." 

"What?" 

"You know what," he replied, looking determinedly into Ron's blue eyes. 

*~*~*~*~*~ 

**This story is not over!!**

This is a crap time to stop this story, but I have to! The rest in NC-17!! It is also vital to the plot of this story, and frankly, if you don't read it, you'll have no idea what's going on. So, since ff.net is stripping links, please go to my author's page to find the link to the rest of the story. I'm sorry! But, it is important. 


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